


caramel macchiato

by vignettes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, coffee shop!AU, this is extremely self indulgent, viktor is a confident gay, yuuri is a panicked gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 09:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15336591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vignettes/pseuds/vignettes
Summary: Just to be clear, Yuuri really isn’t a petty person. Really. But with the way this customer has been holding up the line (and shouldn’t people just know it’s rude to talk on the phone when with a cashier?) who can really blame him if he writes a messyVicteron the cup?In which Viktor is That Asshole and Yuuri is Tired.





	caramel macchiato

**Author's Note:**

> so uhhhh this has been sitting in my drafts for.. months. i finished it on a whim, it's currently 2 am. not beta'd. enjoy!

Working a job as he does, so filled with interaction with customers, Yuuri is no stranger to rude customers. Or, by now, the ones who ask for a “large cappuccino, soy milk, extra whip, no sugar, no espresso, no caffeine, nothing that will spill, etc, etc, etc.”

And Yuuri isn’t a petty person (not really, most of the time).

But he’s had a bad morning after being woken two hours earlier than he needed to be a sentient being by his dog, who thinks he’s smaller than he actually is, and subsequently not being able to fall back asleep.

He tells, almost like he’s speaking to Yuuko’s young triplets, too young to understand complicated sentences or big words, the customer again, “Your total is three-ninety-eight, sir.”

There’s (at last) a flicker of acknowledgement in the customer’s (blue? Silver, like his hair?) eyes, and he fumbles for his wallet with his phone locked between head and shoulder. At least he wears an apologetic smile, Yuuri notes. As attractive as the customer is, Yuri barely stifles his sigh when he sees the others in line shuffling their feet.

“Here you go, sorry about that.” He has an accent (Russian, Yuri thinks, probably that’s what he’s speaking, too) and Yuuri replies, “Name?”

“Viktor.” And then the Russian is back, firing rapidly into the phone.

Just to be clear, Yuuri really isn’t a petty person. Really. But with the way this customer has been holding up the line (and shouldn’t people just _know_ it’s rude to talk on the phone when with a cashier?) who can really blame him if he writes a messy _Victer_ on the cup?

 

 

Viktor comes in again the next day. He spares only a glance at Yuuri before moving on to the menu hanging above the register and continuing chatting (or whatever it is he’s doing) away.

Again with the phone. Yuuri takes a deep breath at the sudden spike of irritation in his veins, and smiles his best customer service smile at the next customer (a kind young lady with her order memorized, card out, and, most importantly, phone not pressed against her ear for her to talk into it in between giving him her order).

Viktor’s order, at least, is the same as last time. Yuri, in a moment of weakness as Viktor continues to talk on his phone instead of pay for his drink, writes _Bicter_ on the cup before handing it over to Phichit and speaks a little louder when asking for Viktor to pay again.

This time, he’s hyperaware of when Phichit calls out Viktor’s name for his drink and the following weight of Viktor’s stare. Yuuri studiously avoids it, thankful to have another customer in line to take care of.

After a moment, Viktor leaves, taking his drink and chatter with him.

Phichit nudges Yuuri the next time they have a lull in customers. “You’ll be in trouble if he complains, you know.”

Yuuri can only smile sheepishly. “Yeah, I just got irritated.”

With a small laugh, Phichit sings quietly, “P, E, to the T, T, Y.”

Only the ringing of the bell above the door, signaling a new customer, stops Yuuri from sticking out his tongue in response.

 

 

The third day in a row (Yuuri really hopes this doesn’t mean it’s going to be a regular thing, and not only because he got distracted the day before by thinking of increasingly horrible ways to spell Viktor’s name despite his previous dedication to focus on class) Viktor enters the coffee shop with his phone to his ear.

Yuuri notices him as soon as he comes in, but continues on as normal until Viktor has paused his conversation long enough to give him the same order as both previous days. This time, Yuuri writes _Bictoru_ , almost not giving it a thought, except that he’s running out of ways to misspell Viktor and still have it be feasibly passable.

For once, the morning rush has died down when Viktor’s drink is ready, so Yuuri finds himself glancing up when Phichit calls out for _Viktor_ (and not _Bictoru_ , which he supposes is better for his job). He watches as the man reaches for the cup and turn it until he sees the name, and then a fleeting smile Yuuri thinks is _pleased_ flashes across his face.

Viktor looks up to Yuuri, and instead of the accusatory glare Yuuri had expected, he sees something more like warmth or amusement.

It’s utterly embarrassing to be caught staring, though, and Yuuri’s eyes shoot down to the cash register as he pretends that his face isn’t mimicking a tomato until the bell above the door rings and he looks up to see Viktor’s back as he walks out of the café.

He sighs and tries not to think about Viktor’s smile, or what the look in his eyes meant.

 

 

The next day, Yuuri spells Viktor’s name correctly, or at least closer than any of his other willfully misguided attempts.

If he sees Viktor blink in surprise at the spelling, he ignores it.

 

 

Yuuri is, in total honesty, scared of what the smile could have meant.

 

 

On the fifth day (not that anyone’s counting), Viktor returns at the same time as usual, minus the phone and chatter. Yuuri glances over at the sound of the door opening and looks away just as quickly. He has a job, mysterious Russian customers or no. Well, actually, he supposes mysterious Russian customers are his job.

Viktor waits his turn in line quietly. Yuuri wonders if something is wrong.

“Venti caramel macchiato, please,” Viktor says, his intense gaze contrasting his polite smile.

“Sure, that’ll be four thirty-five. Can I get a name for your order?” Now, Yuuri was planning on continuing as if nothing was wrong. He’s not one for small talk and he absolutely _shrinks_ at confrontation. So when Viktor tilts his head, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips, and says, “I think you already know my name,” can anyone blame him for the inhuman squeak that escapes him? (Distantly, he thinks _attractive_ and then _oh no_.)

Yuuri shakes his head so fast he feels it in his brain when he stops. “Nope, I have no idea, I’m sorry, not good with faces, nope.”

Viktor rights himself (is that disappointment Yuuri sees flitting across face? _No, Yuuri, no_ – oh, and now Yuuri’s stomach is swooping) and lets out a little cough. “Viktor. My name is Viktor. V-I-K-T-O-R.”

Silent, Yuuri writes _Viktor_ on the cup and sets it down on the counter. Viktor steps to the side and reaches into his pocket for his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri catches him letting out a small sigh and lifting his phone to his ear. Viktor winces; Yuuri can hear muffled shouting from the other end, and winces in sympathy. And also embarrassment. Mostly embarrassment, he thinks, with his stomach still feeling swoopy and his heart taking its sweet time regaining its usual beat.

As Yuuri continues to take orders at the register, he glances over at Viktor from time to time, always aware of the other man’s presence. After getting his drink, Viktor sits at a window seat and stares out into the street as he converses with the shouter on the phone. Yuuri feels kind of sorry for him.

Not bad enough to stop from capitalizing on the view, though. Viktor might not know coffee shop etiquette, but damn is he attractive and _damn_ is Yuuri gay. Watching him (that hair, those _cheekbones_ , _those eyes_ ) is the highlight of Yuuri’s shift, honestly. Plus, he waited until after ordering to go on the phone today. That was good, right? That was a good sign.

Viktor’s still there when Yuuri ends his shift an hour later. Yuuri stares at him for a moment, considering.

But no, Yuuri really dislikes confrontation. He’d like to finish his day with his nerves still intact, thank you very much. Mind made up, he walks out the back with a tea in hand and pulls out his phone to text Phichit the new developments.

He almost drops his phone when he hears a soft, “Yuuri?” and looks back to see Viktor standing there, looking earnest and attractive and impossible to ignore.

“Viktor,” Yuuri replies, the name awkward on his tongue. “Can I help you?”

Viktor shakes his head – Yuuri’s kind of reminded of a puppy, it’s cute – and continues, “No, I wanted to apologize. I realized that I was being rude when I ordered my drinks while on the phone. I know that you misspelled my name as revenge, but I liked it,” he admitted, holding Yuuri’s gaze. “I found it amusing, so I was sad when you stopped.”

“Oh,” is all Yuuri can really manage. “Sorry for stopping?” (Another distant thought: _holy fuck is he emotionally stunted if Viktor is pouring his heart out and all he can say is ‘oh.’_ )

Viktor deflates a bit, shoulders slumping as his breath heaves out in one gust. Then he draws it back in and smiles and Yuuri is once again reminded of how gay he is and how attractive Viktor is when he’s not being That Asshole. “I deserved it. That- well, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Yuuri nods jerkily. “Sorry,” he repeats, then he makes a clean about face and speed walks away, his cheeks flaming red and his breath coming out in bursts. His heart is doing that thing again, where it stutters and picks up and he can hear it pumping through his veins.

He might skip class to let Phichit laugh at his misery, if the other will comfort him afterwards. He needs a break from people for today. And if Viktor’s last smile replays itself in his mind, well, no one has to know.

 

 

To his surprise, Yuuri sees Viktor again the following week. He’s greeted with a cheery “Good morning!” and a sunny smile. When Yuuri writes his name, he spells it Viktor, uncomfortable for a brief moment. Then, in a bout of gay courage, he pens a small dog head underneath.

It’s worth it, he thinks, stomach swooping when Viktor picks up his drink, to see the smile that stretches across his face when he sees the doodle. The smile stays throughout his phone call, too, and Yuuri is inordinately proud.

 

 

It becomes a habit, all the way until Yuuri leaves his phone number instead of a doodle or cheesy pun.

**Author's Note:**

> i relate a lot to yuuri in this. for example: i, too, am a hot mess that's sometimes spurred on by sudden bouts of gay courage
> 
> anyway follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hyouteii) to catch my 2 am live writing tweets lolol


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